The Old Prince
by Dymys the Unwritten
Summary: What truly lies in the past of this strange mummy? Why is it he cares so much about others, yet has such a hard time making friends? The truth might not be what he asked for, but his Emperor knows what happened. Mostly. This is my first attempt at a second-person point of view story. excuse the poor quality.


Secrets are made to be kept. Secrets can hold dangerous truth that can harm lives. Yet that truth might also be the thing to save a life. But it is almost always too risky to reveal the depth of the secret you hold, without knowing the consequences of what is to come. Would it be worth the life of the person you're telling to know the secret? Is it worth your sanity to keep the pain to yourself by not sharing?

The old emperor thought his secret had no need to be kept, and might be better told.

Azir had taken time to come to this realization. He had been a part of the League of Legends for less than a year and quickly learned of the presence of his greatest fault.

Amumu had resurrected years before and joined the League in hopes of finding friends. His perpetual sadness tended to drive people away, but he couldn't help himself. A dreaded curse followed him, forcing despair into him at every opportunity. That, along with his lack of friends and family, as well as his limited knowledge of his past, all of this made it impossible for the poor yordle to be happy again.

At first, Azir did not recognize the mummy, but once he heard the name he could not deny: it was the same being who he had damned eons ago.

With barely a free moment from being summoned to the Fields of Justice, Azir sought out Amumu in hopes of sharing his secret. The ascended emperor found the mummy sitting on the peak of a tall hill. He offered no decencies, skipping straight to the point.

"I know of your blight," he said in his smooth, deep voice.

Amumu, startled, jumped to his feet before responding. "Azir? What…?"

"I know how you feel constant sorrow, and unbroken loneliness."

Amumu pouted again and looked down. "You don't need to feel sorry for me."

"You misunderstand," Azir stuck his staff into the dirt and reached a hand toward Amumu, "I have come to confess."

You were a simple yordle. The oldest of your siblings, you took an interest in medicines, things that you could use to help your people. You were even part an early coalition of the first line of defense for Bandle Town, now known as the Bandle City Scouts.

Your knowledge on healing brought about revolutionary teamwork for your people. You were friendly, generous, and gregarious, giving you a positive reputation as a healer. You had no intention of being part of any fighting.

But once the Rune Wars started, you and many of your comrades were drafted, in a way. Forced to fight in a war you had nothing to do with, a war that began an endless feud between factions.

Your Scouts fought with the noble Demacians, brawl after bloody brawl, with no hope for an end. You were a hero to many, saving lives with your medicinal skills and miraculous reflexes. With your personal array of spells, you could bandage soldiers before they even knew they were harmed. You could numb pain that would otherwise be crippling. You could protect those around you. You invented these spells in hopes of aiding comrades, and I apologize now that you know of no other way to use them, but to fight.

A few of these spells you have retained after your death. With your small size, you could easily pull yourself toward the target. Runes you invented would be used to numb serious pain, ultimately rendering a limb useless for a duration.

You had magnificent magical properties within you, which could sometimes correlate too closely with your emotions.

Feeling loneliness or fear on the field of battle, these reactions would emit a type of aura that dangerously affected everyone around you, friend or foe. The same happened when your anger erupted, but with more disastrous results.

With your unstable emotion disposition coupled with your boundless sources of preposterous magical power, you were a force many soon feared the site of. A flash of your warm, cloudy brown fur and enemies lost hope in victory.

Eventually, war migrated.

More and more allies were sought in further away lands. Shurima.

You were sent with a caravan of soldiers you knew well, to my empire in hopes of recruitment. Your war had continued for years, and you wished to see an end to it. However, you and your men did not know of the dangers lurking in the barren desert.

The beast known as Rek'Sai assaulted the helpless band of troops in their confusion with the heat and brightness. Somehow you survived.

Eventually you dragged yourself into my palace, soaked with the blood of lost friends, filling those you passed with your own dread.

This is where my confession comes.

I took advantage of your solitude, your lack of companions. I heard your plea for help, your tale of distant war and need for powerful alliance, but I acted naught.

I made sure you were served, while I plotted a devious act to betray you.

I, at the same time as your war, was experiencing civil unrest. My people spread rumors of me, and I feared an uprising. In an attempt to turn attention away from that fear, I created a plan to use you and regain my people.

In a hidden cave, I scrawled glyphs of meaningless knowledge. Paintings made to look like ancient text foretelling the arrival of a small prince. I announced these to the public, claiming that they were indeed ancient, and that they referred to you.

Your astonishment inspired me, but I sensed fear in you as well. I offered to train you in other magics, but was relieved when you refused. You did an acceptable job as my pro tempore, but it would not last.

As fate would have it, my paintings foretold more truth than I could have imagined. While I did plan on betraying you myself, by accusing you of forging the paintings, I had gone too far already. My clever story told through those hieroglyphics became truth.

I depicted that a yordle scout would arrive from the desert, beaten by unimaginable conditions, as you already had. What I was amazed to behold was that you, like unto my plan, had become a pleasant prince. You encouraged my people to be more than themselves, in a way. Better yet, you reminded them that they were nothing without me. And still, you taught me that I would be nothing without them.

Finally, according to my last glorious depiction, you would die. I had not made it clear how, but you were still young.

As it was, my trusted advisor Xerath betrayed me. Assassinating you and started a rebellion with those who saw you as false as he did. Those who still loved you buried you in the tomb I had created from the cave of my brilliant stupidity. This burial completed the false prophecy, under description of those that loved you surrounding you, and those that despised you surrounding them.

The rebellion quickly grew after the ceremony of death. My ascension was near completion, before Xerath once again deceived me. Before I had known of his original desertion in killing you, he had done away with me as well. He had stolen my ascension, and plunged my empire into destruction. My personal bodyguards were there to detain him and seal him away in an ancient tomb, but with my resurrection, he has been released.

In the same ancient crypt of my utter failure, I was awakened centuries later. Completing my ascension, I gained complete knowledge of the past and how I had died, along with what you had become. I followed my descendant Sivir here, to the Felds of Justice, where I have found you and made my confession. I only hope that this can now make amends.

But it did not make amends. Amumu was only filled with more questions.

"But that doesn't explain where I came from!" He cried.

"I explained everything I know…" Azir pleaded.

Amumu's temper rose. "But why am I alive now?" He stepped closer, making the emperor reclaim his scepter. "How did I come back, was that because of you too?"

Azir took a step back while the little mage stepped toward him, tears filling his eyes, soaking his bandages over again.

"Why can't I remember anything? And why can't I stop crying?"

"That's enough!" Azir commanded two sand-made warriors to appear from the ground.

Amumu lashed out in rage, shooting bandages and pure magical energy all around, causing the soldiers to crumple. "Why do I hurt people? Why can't I control my magic?"

Azir jumped backward and attempted to summon more guardians to his side. "I have given you what I can offer. I have apologized!" No matter how many times he told himself that, he didn't feel truly guilt-free.

"That's not enough though! The least you could do after that is help me find more!" Amumu threw his bandages at Azir with hopes of holding him down. With a successful grab, Amumu began flying toward the ascended man.

Azir panicked, tripping over the linen wrappings around his legs. Without thinking, he called forth a wall of sentries from nowhere. Their quick reaction and massive shields painfully ceased Amumu's route, throwing him backward down the hill.

"I am an _emperor!_ " He shouted at the mummy falling down the hill. He struggled with the bindings while continuing his royal grumbling. "I do not take orders, I give them. I am already burdened with the task of restoring my kingdom, I have no time for –"

He saw Amumu, lying in the grass, weeping. A pang of guilt struck him and forced him to move toward the poor boy. He reached out, "Amumu…"

In a flash of blood red light, a large ring of runes appeared on the ground around Amumu. Azir instantly lost all feeling in his limbs, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. "Leave me alone."

Amumu left Azir there to fester in his shame.

 _What have I done?_


End file.
